One for Sorrow
by lowrider1213
Summary: He saw their future in snapshots, he saw her tears and her joy, a wedding and a baby, and he knew that he wanted to share all of that with her. It dawned on him, then, that he loved her. She, oblivious to his revelation, was still chattering away. Suddenly he wanted to kiss her, just lean over and press his lips to hers. So he did. And it was perfect.
1. One for Sorrow

One for Sorrow

The words of the case files were swimming in front of his eyes, and the pounding in his head may as well have been the drum corps from the Macy's day parade. He glanced at the clock. His eyes widened slightly when he realized it was nearly 10 o'clock at night. It was probably time to pack it in for the day. He rubbed the sleep that had accumulated from his eyes and looked out into the bullpen. Only the emergency lights were still on, and the sound of a vacuum could be heard off in the distance somewhere, but all of the agents had left hours ago. He stood and began packing away his case files, mentally sorting what still needed to be completed tonight and what could wait until the morning. Pulling his coat from the small closet, he turned off the lights and locked the door.

The elevator deposited him on his floor in the parking garage and he started walking to his SUV in the half light of the industrial fluorescent bulbs, only looking up from his email when he reached to pull his keys from his pocket.

He paused, frowning as he spotted Prentiss's car parked a few spots down and on the opposite side from him. He couldn't see from where he was standing whether or not she was in the car, but remembering that he hadn't seen her bag or coat at her desk when he was leaving, he thought he'd better check.

If she wasn't in the car, he didn't know where she'd be. And the team had had too many close calls for him to be comfortable leaving if her car and her desk were both abandoned at the office.

He'd have to call Garcia to track her.

And that was not a conversation that he wanted to have tonight.

Realizing that he was getting ahead of himself – after all, she might be in the car, stranded and waiting for Triple A – he took a few more steps towards her vehicle.

As the driver's side came into view, he could see a figure behind the wheel. Squinting a little, he made out her dark hair and the red sweater that she had worn today. He let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

But wait. Was she…she was.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Prentiss cry, let alone the type of sobbing she was clearly doing now. He moved slightly into the shadows, as much to gain a better vantage as to keep from being seen.

Whatever had her this upset had to be bad.

He felt his heart breaking a little more with each tear that splashed onto her trousers. He wanted to go to her, to comfort her. Instead he stood, her silent guardian as she let herself break into the night, took a breath, and put herself together once again. He watched, motionless as she wiped the remnants of her grief from her face. He dared not move until after she had started her car and driven away.

He considered for a moment going after her, but knew she'd be mortified that he had seen the momentary fragmentation of her façade and angry that he had watched the overflow of her humanity from the shadows.

No, he'd continue on to his own home tonight. Walking back to his SUV, he brushed the remains of their unknowingly shared heartbreak from his shoulders, intent on finishing the remaining priority files with a drink.

Maybe that Scotch Dave had gotten him for his birthday.


	2. Two for Mirth

Two for Mirth

She felt her own laughter bubbling up again at the sheer ridiculousness of the sight in front of her. They really should know better than to place bets against Garcia.

The bubbly tech never lost.

Still, though, Morgan was sure that eventually they would win, so every month he dragged Reid to the bar's Third Thursday Trivia Night, and the following Friday they completed some fantastically engineered task designed to humiliate the only two who dared believe that they could beat the "Knower of all things Knowable".

She had named herself.

And while Emily had enjoyed Morgan and Reid's brief stint as lunch ladies last month, complete with hair nets and mystery meat (which they had been forced to consume, because "Who's going to want to eat it if even the lunch ladies won't?"), this month definitely took the cake.

Garcia had certainly taken full advantage of Hotch's declaration of a paperwork catch-up day.

* * *

He wasn't sure if he was surprised or not.

After all, the whole BAU knew about Morgan and Reid's standing Thursday night engagement and following Friday humiliation.

Though this was…well, he didn't know what this was.

He certainly knew what it wasn't, and it absolutely was not normal for his two agents to come to work on _any_ day dressed like, well, that.

Nor was it what he was expecting to see after returning from his budget meeting.

He eyed his agents standing in the break room once more and shook his head.

No, he was quite sure he had never seen anything like _that_ before.

Catching Prentiss staring at the boys arguing over the coffee pot, he decided to ease his own curiosity and made his way over to her.

She didn't even glance at him when he approached; he wasn't sure she could tear her eyes away from what she was seeing.

"Care to explain?"

"Garcia."

"I figured as much. But why –"

"Are they wearing stained pajamas, ratty bathrobes, bunny slippers, hair curlers, and carrying around a dozen eggs each?"

He nodded.  
"She's 'giving them the unique opportunity to experience life as a working single mother'. They had to glue Morgan's curlers on because he refused to wear the wig that she brought."

"So the eggs are-"

"Their children. JJ thinks they look like Reid, but I think they take more after Morgan. I think it's the bald heads." She snickered to herself.

"I see."

Oh, he sure did. And he didn't really want to see it anymore.

The boys' argument over the last of the ready coffee grew louder and he shook his head.

They'd either learn or they wouldn't.

He climbed the stairs to the catwalk and continued on to his office.

For now, though, he'd let them have their fun.

* * *

The rules were clear. The boys were to carry at least one 'child' with them on all short trips – those lasting less than fifteen minutes – and the whole dozen if they expected to be gone longer than that.

Garcia claimed it was to add to the motherhood experience.

Emily thought it was hilarious.

And Reid was used to these outrageous tasks and their similarly outlandish stipulations, and he knew that any punishment Garcia would dole out for breaking one of her rules would be worse than following the rule in the first place, so he pretty much had an egg attached to him at all times.

So when he got up to take yet another file up to Hotch's office for him to sign off on, he grabbed the closest 'baby' and carried it with him to turn in his report.

Coming back, though, he hadn't realized that his robe had come untied, so he didn't know as he took the first step down the stairs that he had mistakenly placed a foot on the tailing tie.

The egg seemed to move in slow motion through the air, Morgan seemed to move even slower. Emily looked on in amusement-tinged horror as she watched the scene unfold in front of her.

Morgan dove for the falling egg, and in doing so, knocked the remaining eleven off of the edge of Reid's desk. They broke all over the floor.

Reid screamed.

Emily laughed.

And Morgan caught the egg.

* * *

Hotch looked up from his paperwork and strode quickly to the door of his office when he heard the screaming from the bullpen.

"LOOK WHAT YOU DID!"

"Yeah, Pretty Boy. I saved your egg. You're welcome!"

"YOU MURDERED THEM!"

"C'mon, man. You can't be mad about that. They shouldn't have been sitting so close to the edge!"

"GARCIA'S GOING TO KILL ME!"

"That's your problem."

In that moment, Hotch was sure that if looks could kill, Morgan would've been incinerated on the spot.

Reid reached for one of the eggs from Morgan's own dozen.

"Oh, yeah? Well let's see how you like it."

With that, Reid threw the egg to the floor and watched, satisfied as the shell shattered and the viscous liquid insides spilled onto the carpet.

"WHAT THE HELL, REID? WHAT WAS THAT FOR, MAN?"

Reid reached for another, but stopped when the egg previously saved by Morgan's hand was launched at his head.

The goo dripped down his forehead and plopped onto his shoe.

Morgan was a good shot.

And then the war started.

He knew he should stop this, knew that if anyone walked in and saw what was happening, it would be his head.

Instead, all he did was laugh.

* * *

She was startled out of her own hysterics by a sound that she was quite sure she had heard so seldomly, she could count the instances on one hand. She swiveled in her chair to look at the office above her, and saw her normally stoic boss standing in his doorway, the occasional chuckle escaping from his mouth as he watched the boys.

"He doesn't do that enough."

"Hmm?"

"Laugh."

"Yeah."

"He should. It takes ten years off of him."

She nodded absently, still watching the dark-haired man above her.

Another chuckle passed his lips and her heart swelled.

She had to agree with Dave.

He was pretty handsome when he laughed.


	3. Three for a Wedding

Three for a Wedding

Oh, Christ. This could not be happening.

 _Why was HE here?_

She looked around, trying to find an escape.

 _There!_

She tilted her head down and made a beeline for the corner by the open bar. There was a huge potted plant that she could hide behind, and it was coincidentally close to the free alcohol. And boy, was she planning on taking advantage of the free alcohol.

If she had to come to this political hot-shot's wedding, she sure as hell was going to drink until she couldn't remember that she had come to this political hot-shot's wedding.

It was about the only good thing that was going to come from tonight.

Especially now that _HE_ was here.

She slipped around two of the groomsmen.

 _Seriously, that was just her luck._

She motioned to the bartender and he made his way over to her.

"Martini. Dry."

He nodded and went to prepare her drink, sliding it in front of her a moment later.

So enchanted was she by her own reflection, winking at her from the surface of her, as of yet untouched, drink, that she didn't even hear him come up behind her, in fact, didn't realize that he was there until he tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

"It's a pity to drink alone."

She whipped around to face him, a slightly panicked look on her face that made him frown.

"Hotch! What are you doing here?"

"I went to law school with the bride. You?"

"The groom is a friend of the family."

"Ah. This seat taken?"

She shook her head and motioned for him to join her.

The way she looked over her shoulder while doing so, eyes scanning the room didn't escape his notice. His frown deepened.

 _She's acting like she's tailing an UNSUB._

He tuned back in to the conversation just in time to catch the tail end of her question.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said, she must've been a good friend if you're attending her wedding all these years later."

"Are you implying that I'm old, Prentiss?"

"Uh, no, sir. Absolutely not. I don't think you're old, I was just – "

"Relax, Prentiss. I was only joking."

She chanced a glance up into his face and relaxed upon seeing the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Right. Well, for that gross misjudgment of your own hilarity, I'll allow you to get me another drink."

He snorted.

"How big of you, Prentiss."

"Thank you, sir. I think so, too."

He shook his head at her cheeky smile and motioned to the barkeeper for another round, receiving her martini and his scotch on the rocks a few moments later. Handing her drink to her, he watched as she eagerly took a gulp of her drink.

"Easy there. Don't want to end up on the floor."

She mumbled something under her breath that he didn't quite hear as she scanned the room again, and his concern increased. Before he could say anything, though, she spoke again.

"So how long do you think we have to stay before it's ok to leave?"

"I don't know, Prentiss. You have more experience in these matters."

"These matters?"

"Political partying."

"I guess."

She frowned as she nearly spilled her drink when someone bumped into her. The bar was becoming more crowded by the minute, everyone jostling each other trying to reach the counter to give their order.

He didn't relish being caught in the middle between drunks and free drinks.

"Prentiss, why don't we move over there."

He gestured about fifteen feet away to a small table against the wall that hadn't been claimed yet. She nodded her acquiescence and he took her arm, helping her from her stool and then holding tight so as not to lose her when moving through the crowd. They set their drinks on the table and he pulled out her chair for her to sit, but then found himself used as a human shield as his agent grasped him by his lapel and moved herself to be more completely hidden behind him, peeking over his shoulder at someone he couldn't see. He placed his hands on her arms and pushed back enough to look her in the eye.

"Prentiss, what's going on."

She bit her lip and looked away, clearly uncomfortable.

"Prentiss."

"David Reyes. He's that one over there by the ice sculpture. We don't, ah, get along."

He cocked his eyebrow and said nothing.

"We went out, we broke up, it wasn't amicable."

Still he said nothing. She could swear that he was looking right through her.

"I may have, ah, _escorted_ him from my home with the assistance of my Glock and tactical boots after he was a little too, ah, _insistent_ that we could reconcile."

She peeked over his shoulder again and cursed to herself when she made eye contact with _him_.

"So, you broke off a relationship and then had to use your gun to get him to leave?"

"No, well, yes, but not quite like that. Listen, can we discuss the finer points of my romantic escapade later. He's coming over here."

"Emily?"

 _Shit._

Hotch turned to face the man who had made his agent look so uncomfortable, a scowl firmly on his face.

"And you are?"

"Uh, David. Reyes." Turning his attention back to the woman at his side, "How are you?"

Hotch didn't think he'd see the day that someone could make his normally unflappable agent wear her discomfort so clearly on her face, but there it was, clear as day. On impulse, he took her hand.

"We were actually just leaving. If you'll excuse us. Come on, sweetheart."

He led them away, shooting the man another glare that on more than one occasion had murders trembling at the knees. As they were stepping out of the reception hall and into the cool night air, he turned back to her.

She was still in a daze and her skin was burning where he was clutching her hand.

 _He called me sweetheart. Why does that make butterflies flutter in my chest?_

"Prentiss?"

"Hmm?"

"I know that wasn't the whole story. When you're ready to tell the rest, I'm ready to listen. In the meantime, though, I'm going to flag him for review at the State Department."

He was already thinking of several questions he'd personally like the slimy man to answer.

"How'd you know he works at the State Department?"

"He has that air about him. Now, then, did you drive or take a car?"

"I took a cab."

"I'll drive you home."

She looked up at him and saw the fierce determination mixed with the concern on his face. Knowing that she was not going to win this argument, she simply nodded at him, and together they walked to his SUV.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later they pulled up to her building. She bid him goodnight and moved to exit the car, but before she could do more than open the door, he called out to her once more.

"Prentiss?"

"Yeah, Hotch?"

"The next time you need help disposing of someone who's a little to persistent, call me. We'd hate for you to have to actually use your gun. That would be a lot of paperwork for both of us."

Her heart fluttered for the second time that night and she shot him a soft smile.

"Whatever you say, Hotch."


	4. Four for a Birth

Four for a Birth

"I don't know how to deliver a baby!"

"And you think I do?"

"You have a son!"

"Yes, well, I didn't birth him, Emily!"

She looked up sharply at that, and he realized that he had never called her by her given name before. Their eyes locked, and he found himself enchanted by the warm chocolate of her gaze.

The moment was broken by a piercing wail from the woman laboring on the dirty mattress before them, and they pulled on their agent façades once more – there was work to be done.

"Alright, Miranda. Everything is going to be ok, sweetheart."

Emily tenderly stroked the woman's hair back from her sweaty forehead, shooting him a look that commanded him to do something.

"Yes, Miranda. You're doing great. On the next contraction, you're going to push, ok?"

* * *

"One more, just one more and your baby will be out."

The woman – Miranda – looked pitifully back at him, no longer even crying as she had no more energy to waste on anything as trivial as tears.

The agents looked worriedly at each other as the building shifted again around them.

Hotch signaled for Prentiss to come to him, and she gingerly laid Miranda's hand back on the mattress next to her.

"See if you can get Morgan on the phone again and find out what's keeping them."

"Yes, sir."

She moved away from them so she could speak discretely into the phone, leaving him to comfort the terrified and completely exhausted soon-to-be mother.

"Ok, just rest a moment. Take a few deep breaths."

He took her hand and gave it a light squeeze, and she smiled weakly back at him.

He was saved from having to say anything else by a tap on his shoulder.

"Hotch, they're trying their best but the fire marshal won't let anyone enter the building until he's sure it's done collapsing."

The walls continued to groan under the weight of the collapsed upper floors.

"And the way that's going, it could be hours."

"Ok, Prentiss. We'll have to get out ourselves. You lead the way and I'll follow with Miranda."

She nodded and they turned back to their charge. Hotch moved to lift her into his arms when she screamed.  
"OH GOD!"

Prentiss lifted the dirty blanket that they had placed over her legs.

"Uh, Hotch? I don't think we're going to make it…"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, our little trio is about to become a quartet."

Realization dawned on Hotch's face, and he signaled for Prentiss to switch places with him.

"Ok, Miranda. Your baby is coming."

* * *

"It's a boy!"

He cradled the newborn to his chest, and the small boy wailed in response.

"Do you hear that, Miranda? That's your son!"

"Is he ok?"

"He's fine, sweetheart. He's beautiful."

Hotch wrapped the baby in his suit jacket, long ago discarded, and passed him to his mother.

While mother and son were getting acquainted, Prentiss turned, smiling, to Hotch. Her smile faded a bit at the worried furrow in his brow.

"Hotch?"

"There's some blood. We have to deliver the placenta."

He turned to Miranda.

"Miranda, you have to push again, just once more."

"What? Why? Oh God, there's not another one in there, right?"

He flashed her a half smile.

"No, just the one. But you have to deliver the placenta."

"Oh, right. Ok."

"Ok. Push when you're ready."

The placenta was delivered with one final push, but the bleeding didn't stop. If anything, it grew worse.

"Prentiss, we need to get them out of here. Now."

"What's wrong?"

"I think part of the placenta is still attached. She's bleeding a lot. We'll do as we discussed earlier, but you take the baby with you. And call Morgan, tell him we're headed out."

She nodded and gently took the small boy from his weakening mother with promises to return him as soon as they were outside. Hotch scooped Miranda into his arms and looked to Emily. He couldn't help but think how beautiful she was – dirt and grime and sweat coating her face, tendrils of hair falling out of her ponytail, bloody newborn in one arm and phone in the other. His heart swelled with something he couldn't quite place when she turned and locked eyes with him once more, but he pushed it away, focusing instead on getting all of them out of the crumbling building in one piece.

God knows they couldn't afford to wait for the firemen any longer.

He tipped his head to the small hole through which they would begin their escape from the ruins surrounding him, and watched as she cradled the infant closer to her and carefully picked her way across the debris-strewn floor. He followed closely behind, and together they made their way back to the land of the living.


	5. Five for Silver

Five for Silver

"Hotch, I need a quarter."

He had been two-thirds of the way through a file from a detective in Natchitoches who seemed to have a particularly gruesome cannibalism problem – which in his line of work was saying something – when she had popped into his office, so needless to say her question was unexpected. And while it was not uncommon for the team to lend each other a few dollars here or there, as a rule they didn't ask him. Not that he would mind. They were all responsible adults, and God knows that with all the time he spends with them, he would have no shortage of opportunities to collect. But they didn't ask, and he didn't offer.

Until now, apparently.

Now, when Prentiss was breaking this unspoken rule to ask him for, of all things, a quarter.

He cocked an eyebrow up and moved only his eyes to look up at her.

"I'm sorry?"

"A quarter, Hotch. I need a quarter."

With that, she propped one hand on her hip and stuck the other one out to him, palm up.

"Well, do you have a quarter or not?"

Hotch stood and dug a quarter out of his pants pocket, placing it in her outstretched palm.

She closed her fist, flashed him a brilliant smile, turned on her heel and walked out of his office as quickly as she had entered.

He watched her move towards the stairs from his window, and he couldn't help but grin as she paused at the top of the staircase. He watched as the piece of silver arced gracefully through the air before striking its target and spinning off into the unknown, the resounding _thunk_ of the initial contact audible even to him, making him wince.

He felt his heart flutter softly in time with her laugh. His grin transformed into a soft smile as he watched her make her way back to her desk, pausing to ruffle Reid's hair even as Morgan spun in his chair to face her, an unbelieving look on his face. She was ready, though.

"You said you needed a quarter, well I got you one! Now you have no excuse not to get me my coffee."

And then the bickering started.


	6. Six for Gold

Six for Gold

She looked stunning. Actually, that word didn't do her, or that dress, justice. She looked, well, he wasn't sure there was a word for how she looked. She wore a simple sleeveless dress that ended just above her knees, the gold lace hugging her curves in all the right places and lending her skin a warm glow. Her nude heels made her legs seem to go on for miles, and her dark hair, loosely curled and gathered in a bun at her nape, softened the angles of her face and contrasted sharply with the lightness of the rest of her outfit. A few tendrils fell from where they were secured, and he longed to touch them, just to see if they were as soft as he'd imagined.

JJ waved to her, and he found his breath stolen from him as he watched her glide across the room to them.

By God, if she was going to dress like that, he was going to make every State's dinner mandatory.

But he wasn't the only one that had noticed her beauty; the eyes of every man in the place tracked her every move as though enchanted.

Jealously sprung up out of nowhere and swelled low in his stomach, and he wanted to make them turn away.

Forcibly.

Fortunately, his momentary lapse in mental control went unnoticed as Morgan let out a wolf whistle.

"Damn, Princess. You sure clean up nice!"

She rolled her eyes back at him.

"You have toothpaste on your collar."

* * *

He couldn't keep his eyes off of her. He watched as she danced with the boys, Reid's attempt to lead ending with a bloody nose for the head of White Collar after his not-so-graceful meeting with the floor. He would probably have to go smooth things over with the man at some point, though he was of the firm opinion that an agent, especially the head of a department, should be able to catch himself with something other than his face. He'd keep that to himself though.

He nursed his third scotch while she waltzed her way through the agents from Counterterrorism, switched to Coke while she swayed with a few of the statesmen. Even Rossi had taken her for a spin around the floor when an especially raucous Latin number came on.

Now, though, he was looking on as she began her third dance with a Congressman's aide. He hardly looked old enough to vote, and he clearly hadn't mastered the art of subtle class that floated alongside most of tonight's esteemed guests.

Basically he looked like a train wreck and thought he was God's gift to politics and humanity.

And he clearly couldn't take a hint, because Prentiss had tried to get rid of him ten minutes earlier.

As she shot the smarmy man yet another look of disdain, he decided that it was high time someone stepped in.

Besides, he hadn't gotten to dance with her yet.

Downing the rest of his soda, he stood and went to rescue his agent. When he was close enough to notice the placement of the aide's hands, a little too low and a little too tight for his liking, he wished he had stepped in sooner. Anger bubbled in the pit of his stomach at the discomfort on her face, and he had to resist the urge to put the other man's head through the wall.

Maybe he could have Reid trip him.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts – he could decide on appropriate action later – he tapped the man on the shoulder and smoothly cut in, immediately leading the noticeably relieved Prentiss to the other side of the dance floor. He moved them along to the music, the steps of the complex waltz coming back to him as the notes of the song swirled around them, and she relaxed into his hold.

"Thanks for rescuing me."

He looked down and saw her shy smile, returning it with a grin of his own.

"Anytime."


	7. Seven for a Secret (Never to be Told)

Seven for a Secret (Never to be Told)

She was a dead woman walking. Her steps quickened as she looked for a place, any place, to hide.

 _Bingo!_

She raced up the stairs and down the catwalk, throwing open the door and slamming it shut hard enough to shake the walls.

 _Oops._

Not yet daring to look at the room's only occupant, she stepped over to the window and closed the blinds. Taking a deep breath, she turned and looked into the face of the man who would either save her from the fiery pits or condemn her to the eighth circle of hell.

"Hotch."

"Prentiss."

"I can explain…"

"Please do."

She looked away, bringing her thumbnail up to her mouth to start biting on it, only now seeming to realize how trivial her uh, issue, might seem to the stoic man seated before her.

"Prentiss?"

She looked at him again. His piercing gaze was fixed firmly on her, his brow furrowed in concern. She felt her nerves settling down, and she pulled her thumb back from her teeth.

"It's, well I, see…"

"Emily."

And with the simple utterance of her given name, which he was using more and more often, her heart stopped its racing and she let out a slow breath.

"I…I might've gone to Garcia's lair, just to get her report for the Caesin file, but she wasn't there and I needed the report so I could turn in the file, and I was just trying to find it because she's been under a lot of stress lately because she and Kevin are fighting and…"

"Emily…"

"I knocked the collectible 25th anniversary ceramic troll doll off of her desk and it shattered into a million pieces on the floor. Oh, man, she's going to kill me!"

"Yes, she is. Probably with a piece of the decedent."

She looked up sharply at that. There was laughter dancing in his eyes, even as his face remained as stoic as it always was.

"I'm glad you find my imminent death so amusing, sir."

"I –"

But whatever clever retort he had died on his lips as a tortured scream reverberated through the halls, followed by the _click-clack_ of colorful stilettos. The devil reincarnate was coming for them, and she was bringing hell with her.

She looked at him panicked for a split second before she was making her way around his desk. She pulled him from his chair and crawled into the space where his knees were. He looked incredulously at her.

"Emily! What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to live! Now, sit your ass back down, sir."

Not about to cross a woman facing death, he did as he was told and sat back in his chair.

"You know you have to tell her."

"No, I don't. What I have to do is get another one and replace it anonymously."

"Emily – "

"Ssshhh, she's coming! Start working on a case file!"

He picked up his pen to resume his work and experienced at strong sense of déjà vu when the door to his office was flung open for the second time in fifteen minutes. Though, this time, the woman on the other side was not flustered and nervous, as the first one was. No, this one was pissed. Fury, thy name is Penelope Garcia.  
"HOTCH! SOMEONE MURDERED ENRIQUE!"

She dropped some of the remains on top of his case file.

"LOOK AT HIM! LOOK AT WHAT THEY DID!"

A small hand grasped his knee.

"I see. I'm very sorry for your loss, Penelope. I know how much –"

"Enrique" Her voice was thick with unshed tears.

"I know how much _Enrique_ meant to you."

She was crying in earnest, now. The hand on his knee squeezed harder.

"Who would do this?"

"I'm sure it was an accident, Garcia. But nevertheless, I'll find the offender and ensure that they make it right. Personally."

That seemed to be enough for her, as she tearfully nodded at him and carefully gathered the fragments of her broken Enrique _,_ cradling him as she made her way to, no doubt, send Enrique to his final resting place.

Once the door had clicked shut and the echoes of her heels had faded from the linoleum halls, he stood and allowed the strong, capable agent who, moments before, had been cowering in fear of incurring the wrath of a woman with beanie babies serving as guardians while she slept, to stand.

She bit her lip and looked up at him, a question playing in her eyes.

"Yes, Prentiss. I'll keep your secret. But you better fix this."

Knowing that she had been dismissed, she flashed him a small smile in thanks. She made her way back down to the bullpen, already going through a mental list of the websites on which she might be able to find a replacement Enrique. It was a short list.

She sat at her desk, preparing herself for what was sure to be a long search, and looked up at the man who had saved her life once more. He was diligently working, most likely on the same case that she had interrupted upon her explosive entry to his office. A soft warmth blossomed in her chest, but she pushed it away. She had more important things to think about right now.

Like where to buy a collectible 25th anniversary ceramic troll doll.


	8. Eight for a Kiss

Eight for a Kiss

They were in North Dakota driving back from interviewing the family of one of their victims when it happened.

They had a crappy case on top of his already crappy week, so the fuse to his dynamite temper was short and everyone was giving him a wide berth as a result.

Everyone except her.

And he wondered at that. Wondered how she was so easily able to brush off the callous comments he made, how he snapped at her.

Wondered how she made his bad days a little better simply by being there.

And so, when he had nearly bitten Reid's head off for the third time that morning, he had decided to go himself to talk to the parents of their latest dead girl.

And he had decided to take her with.

Because she made him feel better.

But he always forgot how much driving was required in the northern Midwest, so it had taken them nearly three hours to drive from Bismarck to Fargo.

And now, one hour and seventeen minutes into their return trip, as she chattered on about what Garcia had gotten Henry during their last Girls' Night Out (a black leather motorcycle jacket complete with studs), how her visit with her mother went last week (in a phrase, not well), and how she wanted to check out the new mall that they had just finished building in Reston, it occurred to him that he had been doing this more as of late.

Spending time with her, that is.

It was not something that he had consciously started doing.

But gradually, she had wriggled her way passed his defenses.

Sometimes picking the lock, sometimes blasting a hole through the six-inch fortified concrete.

Finding him in whatever dark corner he had slunk into and dragging him out into the light with her.

Sharing pieces of herself, as she was doing now, making a connection.

Making him make a connection.

And as her voice wrapped around him, filling him with warmth and peace even as they drove back to a too-small police station to catch yet another of society's cancers, something welled in his chest that was both familiar and not.

It was a warm bowl of soup on a cold night.

It was carols by the Christmas tree.

It was falling asleep on the couch to his favorite movie.

It was light, and it was laughter.

It was home.

 _He_ was home.

The thought hit him like a heavyweight champion, knocking the breath from his lungs.

He saw their future in snapshots, he saw her tears and her joy, a wedding and a baby, and he knew that he wanted to share all of that with her. It dawned on him, then, that he loved her. She, oblivious to his revelation, was still babbling away. Suddenly he wanted to kiss her, just lean over and press his lips to hers.

So he did.

And it was perfect.


	9. Nine for a Wish

Nine for a Wish

"Oh, a shooting star! You have to make a wish!"

"Prentiss, that's an airplane."

She looked at him as though he had three heads and was speaking ancient Aramaic.

And, granted, his recent behavior had been, uh, _questionable_.

Really, he had been silent since driving the SUV into the ditch it was currently sitting in, an evasive maneuver that wouldn't have been necessary had he seen the deer a split second earlier.

Which he probably would have done had he not been otherwise occupied by his subordinate's exquisitely soft lips.

Again, not an incident that was going to win him Agent of the Year.

And she had been trying to get him to talk to her since they had, uh, _evacuated_. To no avail, he might add. She had been desperate enough to try to converse about the weather.

He was pretty sure, though, that she had stopped expecting him to respond around the same time she started talking about the outrageous price hike on tampons. Now she was just talking to talk.

He honestly didn't think that the woman could go fifteen minutes without hearing her own voice unless under duress.

And it was clear that, whatever she had been expecting, his response to her celestial observations wasn't it.

Though, in his defense, it was clearly an airplane.

"Oh, so you're speaking now?"

"Emily, _please_ – "

"So it's Emily, now, is it?"

"Just let me retain a _shred_ of my dignity."

"Well, sir, seeing as _you're_ the reason we're out here at all and _I_ was just an innocent bystander, and _I_ say it's a shooting star, _you_ have to make a wish. And you better hurry up, there's a statute of limitations. And make it a good one."

He cringed.

"I'm so sorry, I really don't know – "

"Oh, no, you do not get to change the subject, especially if you're going to lie."

"Lie? I wasn't going to lie about anything!"

Yes he was. He so, totally was.

It's not like he could just look at her and say 'Oh, it's nothing, really, I just crashed the car that I was driving because I realized I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you and I just had to kiss you right then.'

Yeah, definitely not the way he wanted to start this relationship.

Because he did want a relationship with her.

And he did love her. Quite a bit, actually.

But he wasn't ready to tell her that yet.

And he wasn't sure she was ready to hear it, yet, either.

So she stared at him knowingly, and he tried his best to look innocent, and less than a minute later two pairs of headlights pulled up alongside them. The deputy driving the SUV handed him the keys and climbed in the cruiser with his partner, leaving the two agents to each other's company once more.

He walked around to the driver's side and glanced up at the sky as he climbed into the seat, and a brilliant white light streaked across the inky black of the night so quickly he couldn't be sure he had seen anything at all.

The two doors slammed shut and the vehicle was quiet as they fastened their seatbelts and he started the engine to follow the deputies back to the station. He dared to hope that it might stay that way so he could get his thoughts straight in his own mind.

"So?"

He should not have been so naïve.

He glanced quickly at her.

"So, what?"

"So, what did you wish for?"

And he decided to take a chance.

"I wish for you to have dinner with me when we get home."

She raised an eyebrow in surprise, but quickly softened and flashed him a warm smile.

"I'd like that."


	10. Ten for a Bird You Must Not Miss

Ten for a Bird You Must Not Miss

All he could think as he ran was that he couldn't believe that this day had finally come. He was not so naïve to believe that it never would, but if he was honest with himself, and he so tried to be, he didn't think that it would be today.

Today, when the evil they were chasing was just a troubled kid.

He had known that it would most likely be one of the four of them – Garcia rarely traveled and Reid and JJ didn't go into the field very often – and he had pictured a truly sadistic unsub, one with a high body count and an endgame that had been carefully scripted and executed. He had envisioned a day that was dark to match the realities of what had happened; maybe a shootout, an explosion. A blaze of glory, if you will.

But he hadn't pictured this.

Not this boy who, for all that he had done, hadn't killed anyone yet.

Not this day, this beautiful October day, with its vivid blue sky and bright fluffy clouds, the gentle waves of the mountain lake softly kissing the shoreline, the autumn leaves just falling to the forest floor, blanketing the ground in splashes of oranges and reds.

And while he had known that it would be one of them, it truly hadn't occurred to him that it would be _this_ one.

But Morgan hadn't seen what he had, and Dave hadn't had the words to reach him, and he, well, he hadn't been fast enough.

He looked slightly to the right and fired two quick shots, the way his target crumbled to the ground, felled by a double-tap perfectly placed in the heart, going unnoticed by him. He had turned just long enough to pull the trigger, then his attention was immediately returned to her.

Her.

Emily.

Emily, who was trying to save a child.

Emily, who was shot by the fifteen-year-old she was trying to reach.

Emily, who now lay bleeding on the leaf-covered forest floor.

His Emily.

 _Oh God._

* * *

They could've been happy. Really happy. The sort of happy that people write books and movies and songs about.

Instead, he had failed her.

Failed her in life, and failed her in love.

He didn't bother to wipe at the tears already tumbling down his cheeks as he fell to his knees next to her. It wouldn't be of any use, anyways, they were coming faster than he could brush them away. The dry leaves crackled under him as he shifted her into his arms, the blood flowing from the perfectly round hole in her chest soaking him immediately.

He knew he wouldn't be able to scrub its touch from his skin.

She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but only a wheeze sounded. He brushed the loose tendrils of hair that had fallen from her ponytail off of her sweaty forehead.

It was as soft as he remembered.

"Shh, sweetheart. It's alright. I'm right here."

He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead and held her hand as she struggled to bring air into her lungs, the wet rattling he could hear in her chest telling him that it wouldn't be long now, the muddy ground drinking her spilled blood greedily and the cool wind cruelly stealing the last of her strength. He could hear Morgan yelling frantically for the medics, but he knew that they wouldn't get there in time.

Suddenly, a hundred things that he had never gotten to tell her crossed his mind. How he only liked cookies when they were still warm from the oven, how he had made Reid take his Halloween costume off last year because the mask freaked him out, how he was driven to do this work, their work, because of his fear of turning into his father, how he worried about pushing Morgan too hard, or not challenging Reid enough, or forgetting to tell JJ or Garcia how appreciated they were.

How he loved her.

She shivered and then lied still, and floating into the blue autumn sky with the last wisp of breath to ever cross her lips were the final pieces of his battered heart, now never to be whole again.

And somewhere in the distance, the cry of a loon.


End file.
